


Angel of the Morning

by AidenFlame



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Child Dean Winchester, Child Sam Winchester, Childhood, Comfort, Drinking, Gen, Weechesters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-13
Updated: 2013-01-13
Packaged: 2017-11-25 09:43:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/637573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AidenFlame/pseuds/AidenFlame
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Little Sam is wondering about the mother he never knew, and who does he go to for answers? Dean of course. But Dean doesn't want his baby brother to know the full horrors of the world just yet. <br/>Sam is 7 years old, and Dean is 11.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Angel of the Morning

**Author's Note:**

> Dean is about 11 here, and Sam is about 7. Slight spoilers for the mystery around Mary’s death and family.

“Dean?”  
 Dean looked up from where he was laying on his bed reading a comic book, and saw his little brother standing nervously by the door to their shared bedroom, picking at the pealing motel wall paper.  
“Hey, Sammy. Finished your homework?” He smiled warmly at the younger boy, beckoning him into the room.  
Sam nodded, and made his way over to his bed, where he sat crossed legged in the middle, facing Dean’s bed. He sat for a few moments, fidgeting, and playing with the grubby bed cover, not looking at his brother. Dean could tell he had something on his mind, but didnt want to pressure him into talking. Sam had a way of clamming up if you pushed him too hard. It was better to let him talk in his own time- something their dad hadn’t figured out yet.  
After a few minutes of awkward silence, however, Dean cleared his throat.  
“Anything you wanted to talk about, kiddo?”  
Sam mumbled something, still looking at the bed cover, tracing the pattern with his fingers.  
“Didn’t quite catch that, what?” Dean asked again  
Sam looked up, but not quite at Dean.  
“How come we don’t have a mom?”

The question took Dean by surprise. He had expected something about girls, or dad’s ever more frequent hunting trips.  
“Sam...” Dean hesitated slightly “You know...Mom died when you were a baby.”  
“But WHY, Dean? Why our Mom? Was she...bad?”  
“NO!” Dean jumped up and grabbed Sam’s shoulders, forcing him to look him in the eyes.  
“NEVER say that! Don’t you EVER say that!” He shook his brother hard, making him whimper.  
The sound caused Dean’s anger to calm slightly, and he loosened his grip on Sam’s arms. He sat back on his own bed, shaking slightly. He hadn’t meant to get angry at Sam.  
He looked up, and saw tears rolling down his brother’s cheeks. He walked back over, and sat beside Sam, pulling him into a hug.  
“Sorry Sammy...I didn’t...Y’know?”  
Sam nodded, sniffing slightly.

They sat in silence for a minute, holding each other.  
“De...” Sam’s voice was small and tentative. He didn’t want to upset Dean again, but he had to know. “Can you...Can you tell me about her? About what happened? I tried asking dad, but...” He trailed off as he felt Dean tense up; afraid he had made him angry.  
But Dean pulled his brother onto his lap.  
“Sure.” He stroked Sam’s hair in the way he knew soothed him, liking the feel of the silky curls between his fingers.  
He smiled down at his baby brother. “What you wanna know?”  
Sam hesitated. “Was she a good person?”  
Deans smile widened. “The best, Sammy! She was always smiling, and she never got tired of playing with us. She used to make pancakes with chocolate chips for breakfast every weekend. She used to sing while she was making ‘em too... She had the best voice...” Dean trailed off, lost in happy memories.  
Sam allowed him this moment, snuggling closer into his brother’s embrace.  
“Was she pretty?”  
“Beautiful. The prettiest mom in the world, no lie! Her hair was golden, and her eyes were kind, and sparkled like...like diamonds! Kinda like yours, baby bro.”  
Sam beamed at the idea that part of him was like the mother he had never known, but always longed for. He laid his head back into Dean’s chest, unsure of how to ask his next question.  
Dean noticed the hesitation, and knew what his little brother wanted to know.  
“Sammy. Mom was NOT a bad person. She was...she was amazing, and would never hurt anyone. She was an angel!”  
Sam’s eyes widened; in shock, but not disbelief. “A _real_ angel?”  
Dean didn’t even hesitate as he launched into his story.  
“For real! She was the most beautiful angel in the world, and that’s why she isn’t here anymore. God wanted her back with him, because she is his favourite angel. But she’s still with us Sammy. She will always be with us, watching over us from heaven. Because she is our Mom, Sam, and she loves us, and dad. Whenever you look up at the sky, she is there smiling at ya. So you make sure to smile right back Sammy, ya hear? Make Mom proud.” Dean’s voice hitched and faltered, and he buried his face into his brother’s hair, inhaling the sweet smell of his shampoo.    
Sam clung to Dean’s arm, which was slung protectively around his chest, and the two brothers held each other, silently weeping. Dean knew that one day, Sam would have to know the truth, but for now-just for now- he wanted to keep him as innocent as possible, for as long as he could.

John moved away from the door to his sons’ room. He had been about to go in to call the boys for food, but had stopped just outside when he had overheard Sam’s questions about Mary. His eyes had teared up when he heard Dean’s response. Damned if that boy wasn’t doing a better job of being a father to young Sam then he was. When Sam had come to him with the same questions, John had shouted at the boy, and sent him to his room- which is why he had gone to Dean for the answers he needed.  
 Silently, he moved his way into the kitchen, and poured himself a whiskey. What would Mary say if she could see them now? The way John had raised their boys...exactly the life Mary had been trying desperately to avoid. John downed his drink in one, and helped himself to another, and another, and another. The more he drank, the more his thoughts turned to his wife’s death, and the monster that had killed her.  His eyes hardened as he knocked back an eighth drink. Yes. The thing that killed Mary. He would make it pay for what it had done to his family. If it was the last thing he ever did, John would make it pay.  



End file.
